


trying hard to reach you

by groundopenwide



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 14:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sebastian's mail somehow ends up in the hands of one Blaine Anderson, the two begin a precarious friendship of sorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	trying hard to reach you

Sebastian is blearily stumbling into his apartment late on Thursday night when his foot catches on something and he nearly topples to the ground, only just managing to catch himself with a hand on the doorframe.

Mumbling a curse under his breath, he peers downwards and almost slaps himself upside the head when he spots the offending object.  _An envelope._

Fuck, is he really that tired?

He leans down and scoops up the envelope, a scowl marring his features. Scrubbing at his five o'clock shadow with one hand, he slams the door a bit more firmly than necessary behind him and deposits his briefcase on the table before returning his attention to the paper in his hand. A standard yellow post-it note is stuck to the outside of the envelope, and it reads:

_Think this got put in my box by accident. Sorry! :)_

Sebastian glares down at the scribbled happy face and peers lower, to where the person has signed their name.  _Blaine Anderson, 217._ He's pretty sure he doesn't know anyone of the name, but then again, he's not exactly on friendly terms with anyone else in the building. He tends to spend the majority of his time at the office, leaving his apartment early in the morning and returning generally after dark. The ridiculous hours don't give him much time for social interaction. This Blaine Anderson apparently lives three doors down from him, though, so he figures he's at least seen the man in passing. He tries to conjure up an image in his mind, but nothing comes, so he shrugs and drops the letter onto the counter, deciding to think nothing of it. He's exhausted, and all he cares about is that he has his mail back.

*

It happens again the next day, the letter in his doorway once more catching his lethargic self off guard, and he grunts before steadying himself against the wall as he walks into his apartment.

 _You're a popular man, Sebastian Smythe. Don't know how I keep getting these, but here you go! -Blaine_  
  
There's no mocking happy face this time, which Sebastian is grateful for. He wads up the post-it and chucks it into the trash on the way to his bedroom without a passing thought.

*

A week later, and there's been an envelope waiting for him every night when he arrives home. There's also an obnoxious post-it accompanying it each time, and soon his trash is piling up with the things.

_This would be funny, except for the fact that you probably hate the random guy who keeps ending up with your mail. I'm really sorry! I'll see if I can contact the post office tomorrow. -Blaine_

At this point, Sebastian's sure the other man is rigging the whole situation, because it's getting to be completely insane. A week of his mail being delivered to the wrong person is too much. Finally, after wasting the entirety of Saturday morning debating, he decides he'll just have to leave a note for Blaine in response.

_I haven't quite decided if you're stealing my mail or actually telling the truth, but thanks anyway._

_Sebastian Smythe, 211_

Folding up the note, he shoves it beneath the door marked 217 and then heads back to his apartment, where he spends the rest of his beloved day off napping on the couch.

_*_

_What possible incentive would I have to steal your mail? Yes, I totally have a fetish for electricity bills. You've caught me. Enjoy paying this one on your own, though. -Blaine_

Sebastian squints down at the logo on the corner of the envelope, and sure enough, the PG&E initials stare ominously back at him. The snark that is evident in Blaine's messy handwriting almost causes him to laugh, but instead he just shakes his head and peels off the post-it note, writing on the back:  
_  
__Damn, I knew this wouldn't last._ _You're already fetching my mail for me, you couldn't even do this one other thing? –Sebastian_

He does something new this time, rummaging around his kitchen for a roll of scotch tape and slapping a loop onto the back of the post-it before he heads over and sticks it straight onto Blaine's door, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. It gets sort of old tripping over your own mail, after all.

_*_

_This one looks fancy. Am I invited?_

He and Blaine Anderson have been steadily exchanging post-its for the better part of a month now, for some reason forgoing the trip to the post office and just allowing Sebastian's mail to end up in the wrong place. It would shame him to admit it, but he actually  _likes_  Blaine. They've never met face-to-face, nor had a spoken conversation, but based on his notes, he seems charming and witty and adorable all rolled into one. Sebastian may have even possibly wandered his hallway a few times over the past weeks for a chance of catching a glimpse of the other man, but to no avail. He could just go knock on the door to 217 and strike up a conversation, of course, but for some reason, he's hesitant. Some twelve-year-old-girl-esque part of him is screaming,  _what if he doesn't like me?_  It's humiliating and pathetic, but the thought still nags at him, so he sticks to their daily post-it notes and resigns himself to the fact that he's probably never going to meet Blaine Anderson in person.

Today, the note is stuck to a textured envelope that's got some fancy seal keeping it shut, and Sebastian raises an eyebrow before carefully opening the letter.

_You are cordially invited to take part in the celebration of the joining in holy matrimony of William Hayes and Amelia Smythe_

Staring blankly down at the cream-colored paper in his hand, Sebastian drops down into a chair and blinks, his fingers gripping the invitation loosely.

A wedding?

He hadn't even known that his sister was with someone, much less at a point where they were considering marriage.

 _Just proves that you don't pay attention to anything but your job anymore,_  his mind supplies helpfully. With a grimace, he reaches for a pen that's sitting on the table in front of him and carefully checks the box for  _attending_ before hesitating over the next line.

_Number of guests_

Slowly, ever so slowly, he fills in a  _2_  in his loopy scrawl before resealing the envelope and dropping it onto the table, something twisting nervously in his gut.

Blaine had asked if he was invited, after all.

_*_

_The rehearsal dinner is on the twelfth. Pack nice clothes. I'll pick you up the morning of the eleventh._

That was the last note Sebastian had stuck to Blaine's door, over a week ago. There's only a few days until he plans to leave for the wedding, and Blaine has yet to reply, simply shoving Sebastian's mail under his door everyday without so much as a word. Sebastian is panicking.

 _This was a stupid idea. What the hell were you thinking? You don't even know him!_  His mind screams, but he shakes the thoughts out of his head as he walks into his apartment that night, stooping down to pick up his mail, again sans-message from Blaine. To be honest, he sort of misses the other man's sarcastic jokes and aimless comments. A lot. But he's still refusing to just knock on the door to 217 and speak with the guy in person, due to the niggling fear inside of him.  _He won't like you. He'll think you're an asshole. Stuck up. Arrogant._

Finally, by late evening on the tenth, he's given up any hope of Blaine agreeing to attend Amelia's wedding with him. As unfortunate as going stag will be, at least he can fend off any embarrassing questions from his parents, who always fawn over his dates as if  _he's_  going to be the one getting married anytime soon. Going stag, however, also means that he'll look like a loser of a twenty-eight-year-old in front of all his extended family, unable to find himself a date for his own sister's wedding.

Quite frankly, it's awful. He fucking  _misses_  Blaine, okay, misses him and his ridiculous post-it notes. Somewhere down the line, they had become the highlight of Sebastian's day, something to look forward to each time he returned home from work late at night. It's absolutely pathetic, but it's true.

As he lugs his suitcase out of his apartment the next morning when he is due to leave, he can't help but shoot a hopeful look down the hall at Blaine's door. Of course, it doesn't open. Sebastian could just go over there and  _knock,_  but he's an idiot and just drops his head in defeat instead, locking up his apartment behind him and wheeling his bag over towards the stairwell. Just as he is about to pass Blaine's apartment, he stops, sliding a folded piece of paper from his pocket and slipping it beneath the man's door. It's the best he can do, at this point.

*

The wedding is lovely and extravagant and everything that a wedding should be, and Sebastian is fucking miserable.

His family keep shooting him worried looks, even his sister, who should be basking in the fact that she's getting  _married_  and not making herself anxious over her dumb brother. The thing is, with each hour that passes, Sebastian can't help thinking about what  _Blaine_  would have had to say about this, whether he would laugh or roll his eyes or shoot Sebastian an amused look. And, hell, Sebastian doesn't even know what the guy looks like, but he's sure he'd look fucking  _great_  in a tuxedo, all done-up and proper at Sebastian's side. And...

Wow, okay. He really needs to stop.

By the time he returns home late on Sunday evening, he's exhausted. His feet are dragging as he lugs his bag up to the second floor, one hand rubbing wearily at his eyes and his head bowed. He has to be back at the office in exactly six hours, and the thought is already giving him a headache.

He ignores the way his heart sinks when he finds the stack of mail in his doorway, no post-it note to be seen.

*

The next weekend, he finally makes the dreaded trip to the post office, where he changes his information to list the proper box at his building.

It sucks.

*

The note comes on a Wednesday.

It's been almost three weeks since Sebastian stopped his mail from getting delivered to Blaine Anderson. Three horrible, gut-wrenching weeks of Sebastian wanting to knock himself upside the head, curl up in a ball, do  _something_  to wallow in his own misery, except he can't. Work is incredibly hectic, as always, and he's been staying later and later each night simply to avoid the apartment. He's running mad on a lack of sleep, hardly able to catch more than two or three hours a night, and his brain is a jumbled mess at this point. As he wrestles his way into his apartment just after one o'clock in the morning on said Wednesday (well, Thursday), he nearly does a double take at the large yellow envelope that's lying on the ground, waiting for him.

_Sebastian,_

_Okay, so. I know you probably hate me by now, or at least think I hate you, but I just wanted to explain myself. I'm going to sound incredibly lame, and if you don't hate me already, no doubt you will after this. I just needed to be honest._

_First of all, I promise, I wasn't stealing your mail. It legitimately kept ending up in the wrong box, and I would apologize for that again, but I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry because that mistake led me to talking- well, writing- to you. Leaving you those stupid post-it notes was kind of the best thing I had going in my life, at least for awhile there. They were clever, and they made me laugh, so for that, I thank you. You're rather charming, which I'm sure you're aware of, and I guess that's sort of where I'm heading with this._

_I wanted to accept your invitation. I swear, I did. When I saw the post-it, for a split second, I thought about what it would be like: to actually speak with you in person, to go to that dumb wedding and laugh at your family and just have the most amazing time._

_But I couldn't. I couldn't because you're_ _ you _ _and I'm me, and it just...it wouldn't work. You're way too good for me. Cliché, I know, but isn't our whole story a bit cliché? Two guys meet and fall in like without ever seeing the other's face. Very cliché, if you ask me._

_Anyways, back to my point. I'm sorry, Sebastian. I'm sorry if I made you think I didn't like you, or didn't want to see you, because I really, really did. Please believe me._

_I hope you enjoyed the wedding. Thank you for everything._

_Your friend in apartment 217,_

_Blaine Anderson_

By the time he finishes reading, Sebastian is about ready to crumple the note into a ball and chuck it out the window, until he sees the rest of the contents of the envelope.

His notes.

Each and every one, some stuck together, some with ink smeared. Scrabbling to tip the envelope upside down, he watches as they all come spilling out across the kitchen table, the largest one falling out last. It's the note he left for Blaine on the day he departed for the wedding, and Sebastian pauses for a long moment before reaching over and unfolding it.

_Blaine,_

_I'm sorry._

_It was never my intention to scare you off, or anger you, or whatever I've done to warrant the absence of your notes. The truth is, I miss them. I miss you. And I couldn't leave for this wedding without at least telling you that, because chances are, I'll never be able to say it to your face._

_I don't know what you look like, or what you spend your days doing, or who your friends are, but I know that you're kind enough to return that strange guy down the hall's mail and even sign it with a happy face. I know that you're polite, yet snarky enough to use sarcasm with him on paper. I know that you're intelligent enough that when you see this guy in person, you'll probably go running, because you're good and he's not._

_My job is my life, Blaine. I don't call my family, I don't talk to the people in this building, I don't go out on Saturday nights. I work, and work, and work. It's a sad existence, and you somehow managed to make it not-sad for awhile. I want that back._

_Even if you don't, I'm really hoping you'll respond to this. Tell me you hate me, do something. Just let me know what you're thinking, please?_

_I'm not going to pester you anymore. Have a nice day._

_Sebastian Smythe_

Re-reading over his own words is like a punch in the gut, because  _really?_  Blaine couldn't even  _keep_  all of those notes that had meant so much to Sebastian himself. Instead, he had to stuff them all away and return them like a fucking  _coward,_  and the thought just causes Sebastian to ache.

Before he knows it, he's shoving the notes back into the envelope and clutching it in one hand before throwing open the door to his apartment and storming out into the hall, despite the fact that it's nearly two o'clock in the morning and the rest of the sane people in his building are probably asleep. He stops in front of Blaine's door and knocks sharply on the wood, his insides tumbling around in a mixture of nerves and fury. He hasn't even thought about what he's going to say, is just running on pure instinct here, but when the door suddenly cracks open, any chance Sebastian had of formulating words flies right out the window.

Blaine is fucking  _beautiful._

His hair is dark and curly, adorably mussed from the pillow he had probably been laying on less than a minute before, and his eyes are this rich honey-brown, warm and sparkling as he blinks the sleep from his eyes and peers upwards at Sebastian. His nose suddenly wrinkles in the cutest expression of confusion Sebastian's ever seen, and he opens the door a tad wider before speaking.

"Can I help you?" And, oh god, his  _voice._  It's rough with exhaustion, but low and thick like molasses, and if Sebastian didn't like this guy  _before_  seeing him in person, he's absolutely smitten now.

"Blaine," is all that he manages to get out, the name leaving his mouth in a breathless whisper. Blaine's brows furrow slightly as he raises a fist and scrubs the grit from his eyes before looking back up again.

"Look, I—I don't think I know you, and it's the middle of the night, so could you just..." his voice dies off abruptly as his eyes travel down to the envelope that Sebastian is gripping loosely in his hand, arms having gone slack at the first sight of the man in front of him. Blaine's eyes widen perceptibly, and a second later, he's scrambling to close his apartment door, but Sebastian's quick reflexes allow him to wedge a foot in the doorway before Blaine can shut him out.

"Blaine," he repeats, and the other man is staring up at him with such an anxious expression that Sebastian has to wonder what exactly is going on in his mind. Finally, after a prolonged moment of silence, Sebastian sighs and stretches out his hand, offering the yellow envelope to him.

"Just...keep them," he murmurs, barely refraining from tacking a needy  _please_  onto the end. Blaine blinks, and then nods jerkily, snatching up the envelope and dropping his gaze to the floor.

"I..." he starts, shuffling nervously on the spot. "I'm—"

"Sorry," Sebastian finishes for him, trying to ignore the bitter note in his own voice. "Yeah, I know."

Blaine is floundering, he can tell. Sebastian would almost feel bad, except for the fact he is absolutely  _shattered_  thanks to this man right now, a crushing sensation developing in his chest. He's not sure what he was thinking when he came over here. He was looking for...what, closure? A happy ending? Anything but this feeling of falling, tumbling and skidding downward and then crashing into the jagged rocks below.

"Can you just tell me one thing?" He asks suddenly, desperately attempting to catch Blaine's gaze. Blaine opens his mouth, closes it, then nods again, and Sebastian continues. " _Why?_ I read your letter, but I just...I don't understand. I want to know why."

He sounds positively  _broken,_  he realizes, and Jesus, when had Blaine Anderson managed to burrow so deeply beneath his skin? It isn't until now that Sebastian realizes how badly he wants this, how hard he's willing to try to convince Blaine that they can do this. And when Blaine finally,  _finally_  meets his gaze, Sebastian can see the lack of excuses written all over his face, the  _want_  in his eyes as well.

Blaine's just...scared.

"You...you're..." Sebastian is struggling to form words, watching as Blaine's eyelids flutter nervously and his head tilts away, as if he's...hiding. "You're so stupid," he spits out, stepping forward and forcing Blaine to open the door the rest of the way.

"You know what? Forget my earlier question, I don't give a shit why, just...stop it. Whatever you're thinking, stop. I don't know why you're doubting yourself, or me, for that matter, but we could be good, Blaine.  _Please._ " This time, the word slips out of his mouth, just as he's reaching out to clutch at the other man's waist and pull him in.  _Please,_  his mind repeats, and that seems to do it, Blaine's fingers releasing the yellow envelope and letting it drop to the floor as he allows Sebastian to tug him in and tips his head back, their lips crashing together. Blaine's palms are grasping at Sebastian's button down, the other man sliding a hand up to curl around the back of his neck, and it's everything Sebastian never knew he wanted until now.

"Blaine," he mumbles against the man's lips, trying to get his attention. " _Blaine."_

The sound causes Blaine to still, his mouth slipping away from Sebastian's as he blinks his eyes open and gazes upwards, scanning the taller man's features.

"Sebastian," he whispers finally, and his voice is hushed, almost reverent. It's the only confirmation Sebastian needs.


End file.
